


not with words

by Emily_Nicaoidh



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Otabek Altin, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Background Viktuuri - Freeform, Established Relationship, M/M, Moving In Together, Summer, Texting, autistic!otabek altin, background JJ/Isabella - Freeform, otayuri - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 02:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15354306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_Nicaoidh/pseuds/Emily_Nicaoidh
Summary: The skating season is finally over, and Otabek is going to pick up his boyfriend from the airport to start their summer together in St. Petersburg.





	not with words

**Author's Note:**

> We all know the "idk, my bff Jill?" commercial. I realized the other day (read: a month and a half ago) that I could totally see Yuri Plisetsky saying that, and as I thought some more about the context in which he would say it, I realized that it could fit in nicely with my headcanon that Otabek could be on the autism spectrum and not super comfortable with words in some situations. Thus, this fic was born.

“You can’t park here!” The parking officer blows his whistle and Otabek flinches, the atonal blast jarring him from his thoughts. He kicks his bike back into gear and after watching a few minutes, joins the line of cars weaving into and out of the curb side drop-off spaces and flow of traffic.

 

It’s about a half-mile loop around the airport parking garage, and the Otabek feels a flash of irritation as he realizes the cars around him are completely ignoring the speed limit, zooming head of him and cutting each other off at twice the speed they should be going.

 

He pushes the frustration down and tries to focus on the reason why he’s here: Yuri. Yuri is coming back to St. Petersburg after a week away competing at Worlds, and Otabek has planned their reunion down to the minute.

 

Having to circle the airport five minutes after Yuri’s flight was scheduled to land does not figure into his plans.

 

Just as the pickup area outside bag claim is coming into view again, a hotel shuttle veers in front of Otabek, cutting him off and blocking his field of vision. He hits the brakes, slowing down fast enough to avoid hitting the back of the bus, but it’s close, closer than Otabek is comfortable with. He can’t let this kind of thing happen when Yuri is on his bike. Which he will be, Otabek reminds himself, checking his watch, in no more than twenty minutes. Twenty-five if the ground crew is slow getting the bags onto the carousels.

 

Thirty minutes and two more laps of the loop around the parking garage later, Otabek can feel his skin itching. This isn’t how it was supposed to go; he was supposed to get one of the spots right in front of the Aerofloat door early and wait for Yuri to come out.He guides his bike into another spot, glancing down at his watch. He probably has about eight minutes before the parking officer comes back, Otabek estimates.

 

He pulls out his phone to send a text to Yuri, and the reply comes almost instantly.

 

To: Yura

by bag claim.

brought my bike

 

From: Yura

fuck yes! i'm almost there

 

He only needs four before he sees Yuri’s hair flashing in the late afternoon sun. He’s wearing his neon tiger-print backpack and carrying a matching duffle, and a little bit of the itchiness under Otabek’s skin disappears when he sees him.

 

Then Yuri is running towards him, and Otabek is pretty sure he knows what’s coming next so he steps to the side of his bike, and Yuri drops his duffle bag at the curb and flings himself against Otabek. For a moment there’s nothing but the warmth of Yuri against him and the pressure of Yuri’s arms around his shoulders, and a little more of the itchiness and irritation of the day bleeds out of Otabek. It’s been so long.

 

"Yura," Otabek says, trying to put everything he can’t say into one word.

 

"Take me home," Yuri says, and the urgency in his voice mirrors the urgency Otabek feels.

 

"Yes."

 

Yuri ties down his duffel on the back on Otabek's bike and accepts the extra helmet that Otabek pulls out of the other side bag, then slides on to the bike behind Otabek.

 

Otabek can feel Yuri’s hands on either side of his hips and he wants to turn around, tell Yuri that that isn’t the safest way to hold on and then maybe kiss him, but the parking officer is yelling something again and the thought of kissing him public makes Otabek feel a little queasy anyway, so he ignores the impulse and kicks the bike into gear.

 

"Ready?"

 

He sees Yuri’s thumbs up in the rear view mirror and goes for the next opening in traffic, and they’re off.

 

 

Otabek doesn't try to talk on the drive back; the wind is loud in his ears and after everything he’s done the past week getting ready for this moment he doesn’t want to spoil it with half-formed words misheard in the rush of wind as they drive. When they park on the tree-lined street, Yuri pulls at the ties of his helmet, Otabek can see the impatience in the jerk of his hands and the set of his mouth.

 

They don't talk as they cross the street; they don't talk as Otabek fishes in his pocket for the key to his apartment. Yuri leans against the railing on the step, studying the burnt-peach bricks.

 

The pale blue door creaks open and Yuri follows Otabek inside. The flat is a studio and Otabek drops the duffle just inside the door, kicks off his shoes. Yuri shrugs his backpack off and lets it drop beside the duffel.

 

There's a soft mrow from the other side of the bookcase on the wall to the right of Yuri, and Otabek looks down to see Potya winding himself around his ankles.

 

"Traitor," Yuri mutters, but his voice is fond. "You picked him up from Yakov?"

 

Otabek nods, watching Yuri’s reaction carefully, but he doesn’t look upset.Yuri turns to kick off his shoes next to Otabek's, and Otabek watches as he rises, hears the catch in Yuri’s breath.

 

"Beka," he says, and everything he couldn't say outside the airport is in his voice.

 

Otabek takes a step closer, pressing Yuri back against the wall. Everything he couldn't do outside the airport is in his eyes.

 

"Please," Otabek whispers, hoping that Yuri understands. He doesn’t know any other way to say what he desperately needs Yuri to hear right now. Yuri hears, Otabek knows, because he grabs at the collar of Otabek's shirt, pulling him closer against him, and kisses him.

 

It's rough at first. They both need this, have needed this for too long, and this is an easier way to say it than with words. When the jagged edges of the days and hours apart start to soften with the press of their lips, one against the other, the kisses soften and slow.

 

Everything they've needed to say and couldn't over the phonebleeds through in softer, gentle kisses.

 

"I needed this," Otabek manages, as they part for a moment. He can see the dampness of his own eyes mirrored in Yuri’s.

 

"Bed?" Yuri asks, green eyes never leaving brown.

 

"Bed."

 

Potya, who had been waiting at Yuri’s feet for attention, gives them a dirty look and wanders off to sit in a shoebox that Otabek has left open on the floor beside the bookcase. Since moving in Potya had taken to sitting in a box that Otabek had initially forgotten by the side of the bookshelf, and after a few days he had decided to leave it. Potya still refused to sleep in the bed with him, preferring to settle in his box by the door as if keeping sentry in case Yuri appeared.

 

They probably aren't going to sleep, Otabek knows. They’ve slept together before, snuggled together, Otabek wearing his softest t shirt inside out and boxers, Yuri naked save a pair of boxers. They haven’t gone much beyond that and kissing, even though Yuri had asked if Otabek wanted to go farther, a few weeks before he left. Between them, Yuri has more experience with that area.

 

He leads Yuri through the studio apartment to the bed, passing the kitchen and a sofa with a coffee table, where a worn volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets lies open. There are drapes though, providing the bed area some privacy from the floor to ceiling window that doubles as a door to the narrow balcony.

 

Otabek sits down on the side of the bed, folding his hands almost formally.

 

"I have to tell you something first," he says, and he can see from the expression of alarm on Yuri’s face that he’s said it wrong already.

 

"Beka?" It's the most words Otabek has managed to string together in once go since Yuri's arrived, and he still got it wrong. Otabek chews the inside of his lip, trying to find a more foolproof way to say this, and remembers his phone.

 

He pulls his phone from his pocket and pokes at the screen. Yuri hovers near the bed, makes an abortive movement towards sitting down, and Otabek smiles and pats a space on the duvet beside him. Somehow seeing that Yuri is at least a little nervous about this too helps.

 

"Here." Otabek hands over his phone, open to the photos app, showing a screenshot of a couple emails side by side.

 

The first is an email from Otabek’s former coach in Almaty.

 

_I'm sorry to see you go and I wish you the best in your future training and your new rink._

 

Below it is an even shorter email, one that says only _Yes, I'm willing to coach you. It has to be in St. Petersburg, but I'm guessing that's why you're asking_. There's no signature, only the initials VN.

 

Yuri looks up from the phone, eyes searching Otabek's for confirmation.

 

"Is this..." Otabek can hear the uncertainty in Yuri’s voice, and his heart sinks. He’d hoped this would be clearer than words. He’d hoped it would be obvious to Yuri what he had done from the emails, but maybe it wasn’t. “You’re going to live in St. Petersburg? You’re not just here for the off-season? We’re going to train at the same rink?”

 

Otabek nods once.

 

Yuri scrubs at his eyes again. “This is _everything_ ,” he says.

 

"My lease is for a year," Otabek says, waving a hand at the apartment. When he had first moved here, the week before Worlds, Otabek hadn’t been sure how things would go. He had let Yuri believe that the apartment was an Airbnb, that he was renting it short term, just for the summer, while visiting. It had helped that most of his stuff hadn’t arrived yet and the apartment had been pretty sparse at that point.

 

Somehow, hearing that Otabek had made plans to stay in St. Petersburg beyond the summer that they had discussed pushes Yuri over the edge. He drops the phone on the side of the bed and flings himself onto Otabek, tackling him backwards.

 

"Yes," Yuri breathes, aware he's repeating himself, "yes, yes yes."

 

"I was going to ask--"

 

"I know what you're going to ask, and yes, Beka, I said yes I will," Yuri says, impatient.

 

"It's been--" Otabek stops, shakes his head. "You know."

 

He hopes Yuri knows. He knows how words can be hard for Otabek when he's in uncertain and unfamiliar situations, and how those seem to come up more often when they're apart. He watches Yuri’s eye and thinks that yes, he does know how difficult it was to navigate the social intricacies of renting this apartment, of acquiring furniture. Getting to the airport in a foreign, now home city, on the bike he rode here from Almaty.

 

He’s sure Yuri knows.

 

"Beka," Yuri says, and Otabek feels a wash of relief. After two years together, even if most of that has been long distance, Yuri knows what has to be said out loud and what doesn’t; Otabek is inviting him to move in. It's as plain from the look in his eyes as it is from the pair of pillows leaning against the headboard of the king size bed.

 

Otabek shifts a little underneath him and wraps his arms around Yuri's back. It’s been a long and difficult day, and he wishes he had the words to ask Yuri to squish him. Lay stretched out on top of him, all of his weight pressing Otabek down into the bed, the pressure dissolving the stress and sensory overload that he’s been hovering at for the past week since Yuri has been gone.

 

The words won’t come when he tries to ask, but it turns out not to matter anyway.

 

Yuri stretches out, letting his legs rest on top of Otabek's, aligning their chests, so that he's pressing Otabek down into the bed with all of his weight.

 

A small sigh, and Otabek hopes that is enough to tell Yuri how much Otabek appreciates the way he seems to just know sometimes, without either of them saying anything, the exact thing that Otabek needs. 

 

Otabek has closed his eyes.It's been such a long day.

 

 

 

Of course they fall asleep, and when Otabek wakes it's dark out. They must have shifted in their sleep because he finds that he's no longer underneath Yuri but curled against his side, one arm slung across his boyfriend's chest.

 

Yuri is awake, and watching him. "Sleep well?"

 

Otabek nods. "I think we both needed that."

 

"All of this, and getting me from the airport...I know that can't have been easy," Yuri says.

 

"Worth it, though. Always worth it for you," Otabek replies, taking Yuri's hand and kissing his fingertips. Words are getting easier for him again, after the rest and with Yuri's familiar presence against his side. He hasn't got all of his words back yet, it doesn't happen that fast, but snuggled against Yuri's side, breathing in his familiar scent, Otabek can finally believe that they are going to come back. It's okay if it isn't instantaneous. He can wait, and he knows Yuri's willing to wait too.

 

"I can't believe we get to have this," Yuri says, almost to himself. "Beka, this is amazing."

 

Otabek doesn't reply, not with words. He turns Yuri's hand in his own and kisses the back of it, feather-soft. There's a question in the kiss, and Yuri realizes he knows what his answer is.

 

Yuri leans into him, and they're kissing again, lips against lips. Gentle nibbles deepen slowly into something more sensual. Yuri is over Otabek, now, his shoulder-length hair falling in a curtain around their faces.

 

What are words, when they have this? The language between them of touches and glances, a set of the shoulders or the tilt of a head, has more intricacies than any words could convey. 

 

"Words, words, words," Otabek quotes when they come up for air, punctuating each with a kiss to the side of Yuri's neck. Yuri feels a bubbling delight at the revelation that they're thinking along the same lines, even about this.

 

"You and your bard," Yuri says, but his voice is fond. The quotes are a gift that Yuri hoards. He knows Otabek is shy about speaking that way in front of other people; it was a long time before he was certain enough of their relationship to do it around Yuri, even though it's the way he often finds it easiest to express himself.

 

And Yuri has one for him, this time. He did some reading on the plane, when it became obvious that he would never be able to sleep in the cramped seat with Katsuki snoring away beside him.

 

Yuri takes a steadying breath. He's never done this before, and he's not sure how Otabek will react.

 

"So are you to my thoughts as food to life, or as sweet seasoned showers are to the ground," Yuri says, faltering a little on the formal phrasing.

 

Otabek freezes, and for a moment Yuri's heart sinks and he worries that he's fucked something up, that Otabek thinks he's mocking him, but then Otabek laughs against Yuri's neck and there's nothing but delight in his voice.

 

"Did some homework, I see," Otabek murmurs.

 

"Nothing else to do on that fucking plane," Yuri grouses, the words coming out harsher than he intends, and then the effect is entirely ruined by his stomach growling.

 

"Let me make you dinner," Otabek says, but doesn't move to disentangle himself from Yuri.

 

"In a minute?"

 

There's no hurry, and the minute stretches to several more. Otabek grabs his phone as they rise, putting it back in his pocket.

 

Following Otabek into the kitchen, Yuri notices his phone screen lit up from a storm of notifications in the pocket of his backpack, and he goes to check it, while Otabek pulls a cast-iron pan with the uncooked frittata he prepped earlier out of the fridge.

 

Mostly it's texts from the Pork Bowl, wanting to know if he found Otabek and made it back safely. Yuri feels a stab of guilt when he sees that the first one is nearly three hours old - they must have had a longer nap than he had thought. He pads the the kitchen and pokes at Otabek's shoulder until he turns, raising an inquiring eyebrow.

 

Yuri has opened his phone to the camera app and he holds it up where Otabek can see, then leans against his shoulder and snaps a quick selfie of the two of them.

 

It's a good photo, and will tell the pork bowl everything he wants to know. The pan with a cooking frittata is visible behind them on the stovetop, and they both look happy and relaxed. He sends the text, and within seconds gets a thumbs up emoji by way of reply.

 

"He worries," Otabek says, and there's nothing but approval in his voice. "When I can't be there..."

 

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Yuri will never press him for words, Otabek knows. It's one of the things that drew him to Yuri in the beginning, that and his soldier eyes and impossible ballet poses. But he thinks that Yuri's got the general idea, at least. He's glad that Nikiforov and Katsuki seem to have informally adopted Yuri as a younger brother, glad that they had been watching out for him while Otabek wasn't around.

 

"But now you can be," Yuri says, and his smile is morning sunlight, the calm after heavy rain.

 

"Yura," Otabek begins, then stops. He wants to save this, wants to wait to say it until he's sure that the words will flow easily, sure that he can get everything out without risking Yuri misunderstanding him and being hurt. But the thought of waiting another minute to give Yuri the answer to the question he had asked weeks ago, before Yuri left for Worlds and before Otabek moved to St. Petersburg, makes his stomach twist.

 

Waiting to say it feels like lying. But this is important, and if the words come out wrong or a mess Otabek knows he could damage something precious and precarious between them, and he doesn't want to risk that.

 

Yuri stretches out his hand across the table, and Otabek takes it.

 

"It's ok, Beka," Yuri says, running his thumb back and forth across Otabek's palm. "You can tell me later. I'll be here, yeah?"

 

"Can't," Otabek manages, because something has closed up in his throat and he's beginning to realize that he has to say this now.

 

Otabek's phone buzzes in his pocket and he unlocks it; Nikiforov has tagged him and Yuri both in an instagram post announcing the trio's triumphant return to St. Petersburg after they had dominated the podium at Worlds. Otabek doesn't care; he's already congratulated Yuri over FaceTime for his bronze medal and he's already been surprised to see that Nikiforov had managed silver, now three seasons after his initial retirement. But the notification gives Otabek an idea.

 

It's been awhile since they've done this. In the early days of their friendship, Otabek used to text Yuri a lot. Before words became easy around Yuri, this was the primary way they communicated.

 

He lets go of Yuri's hand; he'll need both of his own for this.

 

He opens the messaging app on his phone and starts typing.

 

To: Yura

I'm ready. Yes.

To your question the other week.

I wanted to be able to say this

out loud

but I can't wait anymore to say it

and

not telling you feels like lying

 

Otabek sees that Yuri's phone is already in his hand by the time he hits send.

 

From: Yura

holy shit

this is

wow, beka

 

To: Yura

wow in a good way wow?

 

From: Yura

absolutely

fuck, beka

are you sure?

 

It's unlike Yuri to use punctuation; Otabek knows this. Punctuation in a text from Yuri means careful thought; punctuation means that he wants to make sure his words are interpreted precisely how he means them to be.

 

Otabek grins.

 

To: Yura

I'm sure.

 

Yuri sets his phone on the table and folds his hands in his lap.

 

"Now I don't know what to say," Yuri says with a little laugh.

 

Otabek hums noncommittally, and Yuri looks up, catching his eye, and then it doesn’t matter that neither of them have any words for what's happening.

 

By the time they both start eating, the frittata is cold, but neither of them cares, and eventually they migrate to the sofa, where Yuri props his feet up on Otabek's legs and they watch dash cam videos on youtube until they're both yawning and struggling to keep their eyes open.

 

"Shower? You can have it first," Otabek says, and Yuri smiles.

 

"Together?" Yuri asks, and Otabek nods. This isn't exactly new territory for them. They've showered together before, but usually at the rink, in the locker room where there are minimal divisions between shower stalls, and never together at one of their apartments.

 

And then there is the matter of Otabek's answer to Yuri’s weeks-old question— this is new.

 

"Just to shower," Yuri clarifies. "I feel like we're probably both too tired to do much tonight? And I want it to be when we're not too tired. I want it to be…” He trails off, and Otabek can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

 

“Yes. I want it like that, too,” Otabek agrees, and Yuri looks relieved.

 

 

 

Skin still pink from the shower, Yuri followed Otabek over to the bed, which was piled high with blankets.

 

Otabek shrugged when he saw Yuri eyeing the blankets. "The weight helps," he said.

 

This part, at least, was routine. Otabek had slept over with Yuri in Nikiforov’s apartment for a week the last time he had visited and the two of them had fallen into an easy bedtime routine.

 

Yuri opens the sliding glass door halfway, making sure the screen was pulled shut. Cicadas chirp and hum in the trees outside and a cool breeze carries the scent of early summer flowers into the room.

 

They snuggle into the bed, Yuri on the left and Otabek on the right. Yuri folds the pile of blankets in half, so that all of their weight is on Otabek's side of the bed, and pulling their pillows close together, Otabek shuffles forward a little until their foreheads are almost touching.

 

"I'll pick up my stuff from Viktor's place tomorrow," Yuri says at length. "We can take the bus over, and I bet the pork bowl will drive us back here."

 

"Yeah," Otabek says, with another yawn. "Yura...it's so good. Having you here."

 

"Aw, Beka," Yuri mumbles, and he sounds halfway asleep already.

 

— —

 

“You did good, Altin,” Nikiforov says, watching Yuri bicker with Katsuki as they load the last box of Yuri’s clothes into the trunk of Katsuki’s car.

 

“Um. Thanks?” Otabek scuffs his shoe against the side of the curb, and enjoying the sound it makes, does it again. It’s always awkward talking to Nikiforov alone like this. It’s hard to separate the old Nikiforov, the living legend that Otabek had always been too afraid to talk to, even on the rare occasions when he had made it to the podium with the man, from the person that he was now, Nikiforov-with-Katsuki. Nikiforov was more himself with Katsuki than he had been before, Otabek realized.

 

“…each other,” Nikiforov says, and Otabek realizes he has no idea when the other man had started talking.

 

“I uh…missed the beginning of that.” Yuri wouldn’t care, Otabek knows. He would just repeat whatever it had been, usually with a little bit of teasing. He wasn’t sure how Nikiforov would react to the admission that he’d been spacing out instead of listening, even if it hadn’t been intentional.

 

“Oh. I was just saying that you guys are really great together. You bring out the best in each other,” Nikiforov explains. “Anyway, we’re actually supposed to be meeting some friends who are in town for lunch. Do you guys want to come along, and we can drop off Yuri’s stuff after?”

 

“Sure,” Otabek agrees, more out of a sense of gratefulness that Nikiforov didn’t seem too mad about the spacing out thing than out of any actual desire to have lunch with Nikiforov and Katsuki’s friends.

 

 

 

Not asking who Nikiforov and Katsuki’s friends were ahead of time turns out to be a mistake.

 

“This fucking guy? Seriously?” Yuri stands stock-still outside the restaurant when he sees JJ and Isabella sitting at a table on the patio.

 

“They’re friends,” Nikiforov insists. “Yuuri helped him with his anxiety after the final, and they’re in town visiting on vacation. You can be polite while we have lunch.”

 

Yuri glowers, but doesn’t say anything more.

 

They follow Nikiforov to the table, and Otabek smiles a little when he realizes that Yuri is circling the table, trying to figure out which seat was farthest from JJ’s. Yuri ends up sitting across from Otabek, next to Yuuri.

 

Otabek gives up trying to follow the conversation while they eat, instead deciding to watch as Yuri struggles to maintain an expression of anything other than blind rage.

 

As the others all start talking at once, the words blur together in Otabek’s ears until it barely sounds like a human language anymore. It’s incomprehensible, but not unpleasant, and he coasts on the ebb and flow of sound through lunch. Yuri joins in eventually, managing to keep from looking at JJ the entire meal, but Nikiforov doesn’t seem to mind, and JJ doesn’t seem to notice.

 

As their plates are cleared and ice cream cones appear in their place, Yuri catches his eye, giving him a look Otabek doesn’t recognize. He inclines his head, hoping that’s enough to let Yuri know he doesn’t understand, and is pleased when he sees Yuri pull his phone out of his pocket and start typing something furiously.

 

“Who are you texting?” Katsuki asks, and Otabek can pinpoint the instant Yuri’s half-smile flattens into a blank expression.

 

Yuri kicks Katsuki under the table. “Idk, my bff Otabek,” he says, and swipes his tongue along the side of his ice cream cone.

 

“Really. You’re texting Otabek,” Nikiforov says, an eyebrow raised. “While he’s sitting right next to you?”

 

Otabek tilts his phone in his hand as the screen lights up, aiming it at the ground and hoping no one sees.

 

Of course someone does, and of course it’s JJ.

 

“Seriously? What do you have to say right now that you can’t say in front of the rest of us?”

 

Yuri shrugs, and Otabek chances a look at his phone.

 

From: Yura

Can’t stop thinking about what you said yesterday

 

By the time he’s done reading, it’s far too late to hide the blush that is blooming across his face.

 

“He doesn’t have to share if he doesn’t want to,” Katsuki says, and Otabek shoots him a look of wordless thanks.

 

JJ scoffs, and Otabek quickly slides his phone into his pocket. There’s nothing too explicit in Yuri’s text, but he knows JJ, knows what he sounds like when he’s spoiling for some gossip and would read scandal into anything, no matter how innocent.

 

Which would be a problem, Otabek thinks, because the text actually is a little bit scandalous. Yuri didn’t have to be any plainer; Otabek knows that Yuri is referring to his confession, also made over text.

 

It’s not for JJ’s eyes, not for anyone’s other than Yuri’s. Otabek doesn’t want to discuss it and, amused, realizes that he probably can’t. He’s uncomfortable now, and words will be more of an effort. It’s a protection of sorts, he realizes. A protection against the kind of social pressure that would probably have Mila or Georgi spilling their secrets and worries.

 

— —

 

“My plan was to kick him, if he said anything too invasive,” Yuri informs him later, when they’re lying side by side in bed, fingers intertwined between them. 

 

Otabek laughs. “I had this weird realization that I wouldn’t have been able to say anything anyway,” he says. “It was strange. I felt...protected.”

 

“Hah.” Yuri falls silent, then unwinds his fingers from Otabek’s so that he can roll onto his side, propping his head up on a hand. “That’s new, isn’t it?”

 

Otabek closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he says. He wonders if this is a little like what being high feels like; a sense of lightness, of being buoyed by a force he neither completely understands nor wishes to. Beside him, he can hear as Yuri’s breathing quiets, becomes more rhythmic as he falls into sleep. _This,_ Otabek thinks. _This is right._

 

\--

 

They do everything and nothing, that first week in St. Petersburg. Yuri shows Otabek his favourite coffee shops, the places he’s gone to with Katsuki and Nikiforov to get hot chocolates on the sly after practices, and the clubs that he goes to with Georgi and Mila, when they want to dance. Otabek tends to avoid clubs unless he’s DJing; the press of the crowds and the noise wears at him, makes the world seem at once sharper and out of focus when it isn’t filtered through his headphones and the barrier of a turntable in front of him.

 

Yuri wants him to like St. Petersburg, Otabek knows. He can feel the uncertainty radiating from him at each new place they visit, Yuri’s unspoken questions of _do you like this enough to stay, are you going to regret the year you’ve committed to being here_ are always between them.

 

They’re questions Otabek doesn’t know how to answer, not with words. So he says yes every time Yuri asks _do you want to see…_ about a new place, and he’s not sure what to say sometimes, because it’s not so much the places as the person he’s seeing them with. Everything is new and beautiful and interesting viewed through the lens of Yuri’s earnest excitement at having the chance to show Otabek the city that has become his home.

 

“You know I don’t care about this place, right?” Otabek asks one afternoon when they’re sitting on a bench in a park by the banks of the Neva, watching the tourists gawking at sights that are now familiar to both of them.

 

As soon as the words are out he realizes it sounds wrong and winces.

 

“Yeah,” Yuri says, and the hurt that Otabek had feared would be in his voice is missing, and he’s struck once again with a sense of rightness.

 

“Thank you,” Otabek says, and Yuri shuffles a little closer on the bench, leaning over and resting his head against Otabek’s shoulder.

 

“It helps, though?”

 

“It does,” Otabek allows. “This really is a beautiful city, but I would live in Antarctica if that’s where you were.”

 

Yuri’s face is instantly, alarmingly red. “Fuck, Beka.”

 

Otabek can hear the steadying breath Yuri takes, and the silence it stretches into.

 

“Let’s go home.”

 

“Yes.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3 Please leave me a comment if you liked it <3
> 
> \-- -- 
> 
> Otabek's quote (words, words, words) is from Hamlet, Act 2 scene 2. 
> 
> Yuri quotes [Sonnet 75](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonnet_75).


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